


Sick Day

by ladyreapermc



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyreapermc/pseuds/ladyreapermc
Summary: John gets sick and you take care of him
Relationships: John Wick/You
Kudos: 49





	Sick Day

You and John hadn’t known each other for that long, but in the time that you spent with him, he always felt like an unmovable, untouchable force. It was almost as if he was completely unaffected but things that would make most people break.

When you learned about what John really did for a living, about his life as an assassin for the High Table, you began to understand why he was the way he was. He needed that amount of control not snap under the horrors he witnessed and practiced.

That was why you didn’t think much of it when John arrived at your apartment that night with a headache and a stuffy nose. There was nothing to worry about, he assured. Everybody gets colds sometimes. Even world-famous, super dangerous assassins. Still, you made him lemon tea with honey and the two of you cuddled under the covers, watching a movie on the TV instead of going out like as planned.

You weren’t worried. Not until the cough started and John’s voice, which was already low and gravelly, became rough and raspy. You could tell the inflammation was worse than he was letting it on because he could barely draw a breath without wincing in pain and considering how high his pain tolerance was, it had to be really bad.

“Are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital? See a doctor?” You asked petting Dog’s head. The pitbull had taken residence by John’s side and didn’t seem interested in leaving, not even when you showed him the leash.

“I’ll be fine,” John croaked, buried under the bed covers. “It’ll go away in a couple of days.” Almost as if to prove him wrong, his body shook with another coughing fit that made him wince in pain.

You thought about protesting, because that sounded really bad even to your untrained ears, but whenever John dug his heels on something, it was next to impossible to make him let go of it. You just nodded in resignation and moved downstairs to make him soup and more tea hoping John was right.

Except he wasn’t right. The coughing got even worse and John started running such a high fever, his shivers looked more like a small seizure. Every breath was shallow because he couldn’t take the pain of deep breaths. Moving was torture and he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything more than a couple of spoonsful of soup and only after much cajoling from you. His headaches were becoming so bad, any little light would make him wince and curl tighter into a ball.

It’s been only a little over a week of this, but you could already tell John had lost some weight and worried gnawed your insides. Seeing him like this was terrifying. And you could tell he was getting scared, unused to this kind of situation. He could handle being punched, kicked, stabbed and shot. That was just part of his job. Being sick seemed to be a completely foreign concept for him. Especially because he took such good care of himself and was as methodical with his health as he was with every other aspect of his life.

“You need to see a doctor,” you pleaded, massaging his scalp, the only thing that seemed to help with the headache.

“Basement,” John rasped. “Second drawer. You’ll need a coin.”

You extricated yourself from the bed where you had been lying with John, keeping him company. He shifted his position, cradling his head and shivering even though he was already under a thick duvet. He was sweating so badly his clammy forehead had left a wet spot on your shirt.

You hesitated for a second in front of the basement door because you had only ever been there one other time when John gave you the tour of the house and showed it to you. It was the place he kept the tools of his job. Both bookbinding and the other one.

You moved to his worktable and searched inside the drawers but found only a locked wooden box. For a moment, you considered going back upstairs to ask, but a wave of inspiration hit you and you checked bellow the drawer. You found the key taped to the bottom of the drawer and unlocked the box, finding a small handgun, a pile of gold coins and a little black book. You flipped through the pages until you found an entry with the name doctor and a number.

It was almost a second nature to you to reach for your own cellphone, but there was no service downstairs. Too much concrete above you. Instead, you picked the landline and you couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. John was the only person you knew that still had one.

The phone rang twice before the call connected. There was no greeting, no words.

“Hi…” you faltered not knowing exactly how to proceed.

You learned about this part of John’s life a couple of months after the two of you started dating. One day, he just disappeared, stopped answering his phone. Worried, you came to his house, only to find it destroyed, burned to the ground. A firefighter told you they didn’t find any bodies. It gave you hope that John and Dog were alright, even if you didn’t know where they were. Even if John’s phone had been disconnected.

So, you did the only thing you could think of, you went online and checked the GPS location for Dog’s chip. It had been your idea to put one on John’s pitbull, make sure he could locate Dog in case he ever got lost or stolen.

You found Dog in a fancy hotel in Manhattan called the Continental. It was the manager Winston that told you the truth about John, about this part of his life. It had been terrifying at first, but slowly you began to understand the rules for this world. You knew what a coin meant and that it could get you almost any service associated with the Continental, including health care.

“I need a doctor,” you said after a long pause.

“Where?” a man on the other side of the line asked and you gave him the address. There was another pause on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes.”

The call disconnected, leaving you confused and uncomfortable as you put the phone back and pocked one of the gold coins before headed to the living room.

When you told John he needed a doctor, you were thinking more in the lines of taking him to the hospital, not calling strange people in the middle of the night, but right now, you would take any help available, from your world or his. You paced the foyer, Dog right on your heels, maybe sensing your apprehension until the doorbell finally rang.

You weren’t expecting the short Korean man you let into the house any more than he seemed to be expecting you. He stopped by the door, watching you from above the rim of his glasses, holding onto a small leather bag.

“Well?” he said, making you jump into action and guide him to John’s room.

John whimpered pitifully when you turned on the lights but didn’t fight when the doctor approached him for an examination. The man worked quickly, with gentle, but nimble hands as he checked John over. You watched by the door, keeping Dog calm with a hand on his head, as the doctor talked to John in hushed whispers before going through his medical case and pulling out a glass vial and a syringe.

“What’s that?” you asked, unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Medicine,” the man replied, searching John’s arm for a good artery.

“For?” You pressed, but the man ignored you.

“It’s alright,” John wheezed, glancing at you with hazy eyes. “I trust him.”

With a sigh, you sagged back against the wall and watched as the man injected whatever it was in John’s arm, before standing up and moving towards you. He handed you two orange bottles.

“One of each, every 8 hours. With food, if you can get him to eat. If he doesn’t show signs of getting better in a couple of days, call me again.”

You stared at the pills for a moment. There were no labels, no indication of what they were or what they did. Why everything in John’s world needed to be so damn mysterious? With another resigned sigh, you handed the doctor the coin.

“I’ll show myself out,” he announced as he stepped out of the room.

Once he was gone, you turned off the lights and climbed back on the bed with John, maneuvering his heavy body until he was half on top of you, head resting on your chest. Dog lied on your other side, head on your thigh.

“Thank you,” John whispered as you combed the dark, sweaty locks away from his forehead. “I know this is all new and strange to you.”

You sighed and wondered how to explain to John that your awkwardness with all of this had less to do with the weirdness of his world and more to do with the overwhelming fear of losing him. You didn’t care if he had made you call a freaking witch doctor to perform a bloody ritual as long as he was alright.

“If this doesn’t work in two days, I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguments.” you declared and felt John’s low chuckle turning into a coughing fit.

“Ok,” he agreed, voice barely a whispered as he closed his eyes and slept.

Fortunately, he did get better. Almost miraculously fast and you wondered what kind of medicine could be that effective but knew it would pointless to ask John. He either didn’t know or wasn’t willing to tell you. Regardless of what it was, in less than a week he was on his feet again. You were relieved of course, but it was also strange to see. It was like nothing had even happened.

You always teased John about being indestructible after he told you how he got his scars. It was just playful fun of course but at times like this, when he recovered so fast for something that had him bedridden for days, it made you wonder if there wasn’t a little bit of truth behind your teasing.

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, interrupting your musings as you were getting ready for work. You met John’s gaze through the mirror and there were still dark shadows under his eyes, but his cheeks now held some more color and he looked considerably healthier.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice was still raspy, but slowly going back to the familiar baritone you loved.

“No problem,” you replied, turning around in his arms and pressing a kiss on his lips. “But who knew the deadly Baba Yaga could be taken down by lousy flu?” you teased, making John chuckle. He still winced a little at the action.

“Better not let anyone know that,” he said with one of his gorgeous smiles that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“I really am glad you’re ok. You scared me for a second.”

“I know,” John kissed your forehead. “But it’s over now. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. I’m staying right here with you.”

“Good.”


End file.
